


Insurance

by frabjousday (frabjous)



Category: Revenge (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Exhibitionism, F/M, Humiliation, PWP, Sex Tape, Sex Toys, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-26
Updated: 2012-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-06 01:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frabjous/pseuds/frabjousday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You of all people should be familiar with the concept, Nolan. Insurance.” </p><p>And yeah, actually, he thinks he might know what she’s getting at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insurance

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime around 1.17 and Nolan’s “loyalty issues”. The "Emily Thorne" being referred to is the original Amanda Clarke. Happy Revenge Season One Finale. :D
> 
> My amazing betas are [verymilkytea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/verymilkytea) and [calcus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/calcus). ♥
> 
> This fic came into being because I issued myself a challenge to write porn. I accidentally'd a little plot and character stuff.

“Either there’s something wrong with your phone,” says Nolan, “or you’ve been avoiding me. Because I’ve called, texted... telegrammed...”

“After your little stunt with Takeda? I wonder why.” She doesn’t offer reassurances, only blunt truths that cut from the inside. Ah, Emily. “Get out, Nolan.” She turns away easily, abandons him easily like she’s done with countless others.

He chases after her. He has to block her path to the kitchen before she even glances at him again, but when she does her fury is ice-cold and it sends a chill down his back. His pulse quickens. She’s about three seconds away from shoving him against the nearest vertical surface and threatening him with violence.

“Ems, I’m sorry,” he starts because it’s as good a place as any, and there’s no better way to throw himself at her mercy. “I know you have these major trust issues - which are totally reasonable when you’re dealing with the Graysons,” he adds quickly, “but I am on your side. Always. How many times do I have to apologise?”

Her face is hard. “I don’t want your apologies.”

“Then what do you want? How do I make this right?”

Her expression stays fixed, but she considers him for a few moments. “I want your loyalty,” she says. “And I want your obedience.”

“You have it. You know that. I want to take down these fake, caviar-munching sociopaths as much as you do.”

She curls her lip at that, ever the cynic. “That’s not loyalty, Nolan, that’s a mutually beneficial alliance. But you’re worse than useless if your loyalties are divided. Make a choice. Are you with me or are you in this for something else?” For a fleeting moment he wants compromises and softness, he wants the Amanda Clarke Revenge Special because those lies are simpler. She’s good at it. She’d make it easy to lie to himself.

“I’m with you.”

“Then I want insurance.”

“Insurance,” he parrots.

“You of all people should be familiar with the concept, Nolan. Insurance.” And yeah, actually, he thinks he might know what she’s getting at.

“What did you have in mind?” he hears himself ask and Emily smiles, private and dangerous.

*

The camera is an older model, a black matte body mounted on a professional tripod. The lens is big and shiny so that, if he concentrates, Nolan can see his own reflection pale and uncertain against the sheets.

Emily sits behind and left of the camera so he can’t look at her without looking at the camera too. Every glance they share will seem like he’s deliberately looking into the lens. Clever girl.

She’s wearing a severe designer ensemble, but the skirt too short for the outfit to be really conservative. Nolan’s lips part slightly when she crosses her legs, and his thoughts travel to what’s beyond her thighs and sheer nylons. He thinks of places buttoned-up and hidden underneath layers of textured silk.

“What now?” he asks, feeling self-conscious and nervous like he never was with Tyler. He knows very well what happens now but Emily’s face doesn’t give anything away when she throws him a small duffel bag. Then she turns to the camera and handles the buttons briefly until the red LED blinks on. Emily sits back in her chair with arms and legs crossed expectantly.

They’re rolling. Nolan Ross on his worst behaviour.

It’s obvious he’s meant to open the bag, so he does, the zip squeaking in anticipation. He takes a moment for himself, and then another, and then before he completely understands what he’s chosen to do he’s pulling out a handful of satin and lace from the bag.

The panties and bra are a wholesome peach colour, offset with tasteful black lace and decorated with tiny satin bows. Four black elastic garters hang down from the waist ending in tiny metal clips. The satin is liquid in his hands and even the mesh is soft to touch. He can tell how expensive it is just from the feel of the fabric.

He calculates five hours between his morning visit and their afternoon... event, takes into account breakfast and lunch, recording equipment and a change of clothing, and there’d been no time for her to pop by the local intimate apparel boutique to buy lingerie for what was going to be the scandal of the year.

So.

They have to be Emily’s.

Nolan’s breath sticks in his throat.

Still, he tells himself quickly, this is Emily he’s talking about. For all he knows she’d planned this days and weeks in advance, shopped for his measurements alongside whatever surprises she has planned for Daniel. But then that means she’s been thinking about this, thinking about him and how to humiliate him and take him out of the picture completely.

Nolan swallows, carefully avoids thinking too hard, and brings the fabric closer to his face.

They smell like Emily and her French perfume, sharp with spice and jasmine.

 _Fuck_.

His own groan cuts through the silence and shocks him back into the present. Nolan looks up, guilt and desire flush on his face. Emily watches him with amusement, equal parts satisfaction and indulgence like she knows exactly what he’s thinking and how the warm feeling in his stomach is heading straight for his cock. And that’s the worst part of it because he can imagine how he looks, so desperate and needy for her attention that he gets hard at being being thrown scraps from her table. And then there’s the camera recording everything to binary with the promise of bigger and brighter things in his future. After this interlude, Emily will pack everything away nice and neat and slip the recording away with what’s left of his dignity inside her double infinity box.

Emily motions for him to continue, and despite everything, Nolan still finds himself wanting to ask ‘How high?’ and ‘Where do you want me to land?’

He unpops the first button of his shirt, quickly followed by the second and third. After the buttons he shucks off the shirt completely, and unzips and pushes down his jeans with a quick efficiency that he hopes she’ll appreciate. The clothing crumples to the floor with a definitive sound.

Nolan pauses at his briefs, the outline of his cock pressed against the red fabric. It’d been easy with Tyler, fun even, because Tyler had been oh so eager to please and after a while Nolan would forget Shamu was recording at all. But now he’s painfully aware of how he looks, gangly and awkward, cock hard over the feel and scent of Emily’s underwear and no one’s even laid a hand on him.

Nolan wets his lips, and tugs his briefs down slowly, self-consciously. Each breath sounds too loud, and he carefully avoids looking at Emily or the camera or himself.

The panties come first; ruched netting and lace bows ending in a peach satin gusset. The material is buttery under his hands, it stretches tight when he slides it on and it holds despite how flimsy it looks. His cock and balls are trapped, uncomfortably so, snug between his body and the satin.

The bra is more difficult. He slips his hands through the straps and pulls the cups taut against his chest. But try as he might, he can’t seem to co-ordinate his hands to work the clasp behind his back. After a minute of struggling he realises Emily is gesturing for him to come to her, so he does, moving beyond the camera lens, bra lying loose against his arms and chest. The panties rub against him at every possible movement.

She doesn’t stand, so Nolan kneels for her with his face toward the bed. He’s close enough to smell her now, that same heady perfume as the lingerie masking the real scent of her, another layer to the deception.

Her hands are cool and she touches him clinically, impersonally. Nolan leans into her anyway, his ass and lower back pressing against her legs. Emily adjusts the shoulder straps behind him and brings her hands underneath his arms to straighten the cups. She pulls back the tabs, the elastic and underwire digging into his chest, and hooks the clasp for him. He allows himself to imagine that her fingers linger.

When he looks down his torso is framed in dainty lace, the small cups of the bra crumpling against his flat chest. Tiny black straps crossing his shoulders hold everything in place. The peach satin is silky against his skin, and the lingerie is so pretty and so delicate that Nolan feels waves of guilt that he’s wearing it at all.

He half crawls and stumbles back towards the bed, unconsciously trying to cover himself and the underwear. There’s a tightening in his throat like a noose, the delicious chafe against his skin, the need to please Emily and hide from the camera at the same time.

More than anything, he wants to please Emily.

What Nolan really wants is the fistful of blond curls, the chance to hold her close enough to get drunk on the scent and feel of her. He wants the arch of her neck, the curve of her shoulders, his name on her lips. He wants permission. He wants to hear her cry out, and he wants to be the reason for it.

But Nolan wants what Emily wants, and Emily will never want Nolan. Not like that, anyway.

Emily wants him -

Well.

There are two more surprises inside her duffel bag. He sits on the edge of the bed with his head down, and removes each item carefully. There is a bottle of lube. And there’s a plug.

Nolan swallows. His instructions are pretty clear, but he glances up at Emily anyway. There’s a faint quirk of her lips and she meets his eyes steadily. It’s strangely comforting. She makes a circular motion with her finger.

He turns obediently so he’s facing the headboard. He places the lube and the toy on the plumped pillows in front of him, and climbs on the bed so he’s kneeling upright. There’s some hideous postmodern artwork hanging above his bed chosen by his interior decorator when he built the rest of the house. He can barely sense Emily behind him, all he has is the sound of his own laboured breathing and the knowledge that the tape is rolling, always rolling.

He rolls down the panties so they’re bunched at his knees and adjusts his position into a straddle, parting his legs as far as the elastic will stretch. Shame and excitement churn in his stomach and the sensation is almost nauseating when he pops the top off the lube. Maybe it’s a small mercy that Emily has made him face away from the camera because he’s sure his face is burning, and he’s not sure what would happen if he met her eyes while he was doing this.

The clear liquid is cold and viscous on his skin and he coats his fingers thoroughly. He leans forward to brace his left hand on the bed, his face so close to the sheets and the plug that he could almost kiss it. He arches his back so his ass is high in the air, so his ass, his hole, his balls and cock are recorded in high definition, and it will be 1080 pixels clear that Nolan is so painfully aroused that he’s begun to leak onto the sheets. He reaches around to slip the first finger in, and the camera picks up the sharp gasp he makes, the involuntary twitch of his hips and clench of his ass against the intrusion.

Nolan’s eyes flutter closed as he fucks himself slowly, initially shivering at the sensation but feeling himself open gradually until his index finger is sliding easily. He uses more lube for the second finger, dipping in and out, and the liquid escapes between his fingers leaves his ass and thighs sticky and slippery. When he uses a third finger and the stretch is so delicious he thrusts back into it, and for all the world Nolan knows he looks like a desperate, wanton bitch.

His fingers are hot and wet and shaking when he slicks up the plug, strokes each bump and ridge. He positions the point so it nudges at his entrance, bites his bottom lip and pushes _in_. His ass swallows the toy in one long breath, and it sits hard inside holding him open. He presses his cheek against the sheets to steady himself for a moment.

And that’s when the buzz starts.

Nolan twists around to shoot Emily an incredulous look, but chokes when he sees the camera and Emily both watching him with a cold intensity. She has a tiny remote in her hands, and he thrusts backwards to meet space and air, whimpering at that lack of contact. The buzz is too much and it’s not enough, and he begs _please_ and hopes that she’s merciful.

It stops suddenly, and Nolan makes a grateful sound. Emily motions for him to face her so Nolan hurries to obey. He pulls up the panties first, as fast as he can, struggles to fit them over cock. They finally sit low on his hips with his cock straining against the satin, and the lube seeps through the fabric leaving a spreading dark stain at the back. He moves gingerly on his hands and knees, has to bite his bottom lip because the plug rubs nerves every time he moves.

When he looks up there is Emily and the camera, the camera and Emily, and she wants him to sit up. Nolan sits back on his knees slowly, taking heavy breaths when the angle changes so the tip of the plug brushes his prostate everytime he moves. She smiles faintly, approvingly, and Emily must be heartless because her expression remains unchanged between hitting the switch again.

White bursts in his vision and Nolan keels over with a pathetic sob. It moves the plug away from the sweet spot, so he sits on his haunches and uses the heel of his foot to press the toy deeper through the sticky-wet fabric. His hips roll around a single point and it’s perfect and terrible and Nolan realises he doesn’t care about the camera anymore, probably hasn’t cared for a while. He opens his legs so the panties hang obscenely off his hips and he grips the shape of his cock through the silky material.

He touches himself without permission, but when he looks at Ems she looks pleased, so he knows it’s alright. Nolan wants to be good for her because he’s sorry, and Ems didn’t want his apologies so instead he’ll be very, very good. He has to concentrate because the buzz at his prostate and the feel of his own hand through the satin is enough to make him come, but he can’t disappoint Emily and she would be so disappointed in him. He touches himself through the material, shoulders stiff as his fingers and joints work slowly, carefully keeping himself on edge. He keeps his eyes lowered.

Nolan’s doing well until Emily turns up the dial, and then his hips are making shallow thrusts into his hands. He peers through his mop of hair, and she’s more terrifying and beautiful than he remembers because there’s a hunger simmering underneath the surface and Nolan thinks he put it there. She meets his gaze and clicks the remote again, and this is what it’s like to be fucked by Emily because she fucks Nolan the same way she takes her revenge. He’s wrecked and ruined and it’s all Emily, Emily, Emily. He can almost feel her iron grip against the back of his neck, the slick slide of her fingers squeezing his cock, the threat of what she’d do if he came before he was allowed.

“Look at you, Nolan,” Emily says darkly, and he looks up in surprise. “Such a filthy boy.” And Nolan comes in her panties with ragged moans, back arching and hips thrusting desperately.

*

He’s sitting at the edge of bed in his robe with a bottle of water Emily has magically produced from nowhere, feeling the slow burn of guilt and regret in his gut. The mattress dips as she takes a seat next to him, close enough that their shoulders touch. He can feel her body warmth through the fabric.

“Did you get what you needed?” he mumbles, suddenly shy about meeting her gaze despite the fact she’d been watching him jerk off in her underwear just minutes before.

“You did good, Nolan,” she says and her voice is soft at the edges. She hands him the camera, and he runs his hands over it, hovering briefly at ‘Play’, but then moving to eject the tape inside.

He frowns.

“Where’s the tape?” he asks, breathless and confused.

“I didn’t need one,” she says, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> To be absolutely clear I want to add that I don’t think crossdressing (or displays of femininity) are shameful in any way, but Nolan does and he gets off on that. Problematic terminology is being used with full knowledge of its nature.


End file.
